


Looking Death in the Eye

by IcyPanther



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BAMF Lance (Voltron), Gen, High stakes game, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) Whump, Langst, Protective Lance (Voltron), Sexual innuendos, Sniper Lance (Voltron), Snipers, Whump, everyone gets hurt, everyone gets whumped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-06 21:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16395854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: The Paladins are lured to a planet by a sniper who is dead-set on proving that he is the best in the universe. He aims to do so by forcing Lance into a game where his friends are the collateral and unless Lance can stop him in time they are all going to wind up dead. And it’ll be Lance’s fault. / The sniper laughed then, cruel and amused all at once. “The game starts now, Loverboy. Come. Let us see what you are truly made of.”





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HillsHollow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HillsHollow/gifts).



> **Timeline notes:** Set during season seven while the Paladins are en route back to Earth, but after The Ruins (S7E5)
> 
> **Warning notes:** Violence and injuries but nothing too, too graphic that we see. Some sexual innuendos and a general unsettling feeling of creepiness.

 

“I’m not seeing anything,” Keith reported, sounding just as confused as Lance felt as he cleared his second block without any contact or sign of life. “Anyone else?”

“We’re sure the signal came from here?” Pidge crackled over the comms.

The Lions of Voltron had been steadily en route back to Earth when an outgoing broadcast signal had crossed their dashboards. They were all a bit warier of signal lures after the Druid using the Blade of Marmora’s private one, but this was a distress beacon and was being pinged on all systems. It was a bit hard to track as it was coming from a series of small planets surrounded by an asteroid field, but they had followed it down to the second largest of the planets.

Just like the Druid’s lure, this planet too had clearly at one point been under attack; destroyed shells of buildings piercing the orange-colored sky, rubble strewn across the dry ground and a haunting howl of wind tunneling through the wreckage.

They’d split up to traverse through the destroyed city with Coran and Romelle remaining by the Lions in case the person who had cast the beacon came to them.  

“Affirmative,” Coran answered. “ —ber Five — towers ———hear —nal go—"

“Coran, you are breaking up,” Allura called.

“—me I———”

Coran cut out completely with a sharp buzz of static that had them clapping their hands to their helmets and Pidge cursing to Shiro’s weary call of “language,” that had lost its effectiveness long ago. Lance smirked and had to give Shiro at least points for trying.

“Should we continue?” Hunk asked, sounding out of breath. All of the walking over the uneven terrain would be trying on a good day and they’d been cooped up in the Lions for the last three days without much room to do more than pace about.

“A few more minutes,” Keith said, “If we don’t see anything then we’ll regroup at the Lions and try broadcasting an announcement again.”

“You will not see anything because you are not looking.”

Lance stumbled over the cinderblock as a foreign voice echoed over his headset.

What the…?

“Who is this?” Keith demanded and Lance winced at the volume. “How are you on this channel?”

“So quick to anger, Red Paladin turned Black,” the voice said, a dangerous lilt to it.

It reminded Lance a bit of Lotor except… deeper, a bit more… unhinged.

A shiver he couldn’t entirely explain ran down his back.

“Who is this?” Keith repeated, jaw clearly clenched.

“I go by many names, Black Paladin, but let’s go with my most renowned, hmm? You may call me Death Eye. It is a true pleasure.”

“Did you send the distress beacon?” Shiro cut in.

“Ah, the Champion. Quite a renowned cast here, is it not?” Death Eye let out another chuckle and Lance could almost hear Shiro’s eyes narrow. “To your question… I did.”

There was a pause then that stretched.

And stretched.

Lance cleared his throat and tentatively keyed in. “Do… do you need help then?”

Because as… strange as this situation seemed to be there was no need to jump to nefarious conclusions just because the guy’s name was super creepy and he had the ability to hack into their headsets.

The loud bark of laughter was not what he expected. Neither were the words.

“There he is! There’s the Paladin of the hour!” His voice turned lower. “Loverboy Lance, Blue Paladin turned Red. Oh, how I have longed to meet _you.”_

That weird shiver was back again and Lance pushed it away, going for a laugh of his own, hoping it came out as light as intended.

No need to get weirded out.

Yet.

“Well, if all you wanted was an autograph you could have just said so.”

“I do not want an autograph,” Death Eye sounded amused. “But I appreciate the offer, Loverboy.”

“What _do_ you want?” Keith was back and Lance backed out of the conversation, more unsettled than he’d like.

He’d dealt with his fair share of weird fans back from the Voltron Show performances, but something about this one was sending his hair prickling the same way Lotor’s honeyed words had.

His hand tightened about his bayard.

“It is not a matter of want but need, Black Paladin. I… have _many_ needs.” There was something more ominous now, the amusement gone. “And today… today I have need of your loverboy.”

Lance’s stomach lurched.

What?

“Okay, that’s it,” Pidge popped on now. “You sick weirdo, we’re done. You can stay the fuck here and we’re leaving. Guys?”

“Ah ah, not so fast,” Death Eye clucked his tongue. “So impatient, little Green Paladin. Still so small after three years too, what _have_ you all been up to?”

He could see them, Lance realized. It explained the weird shudder that kept prickling him.

They were being watched.

What was going on?

What did this guy _want?_

“I have not yet gotten what I need,” Death Eye continued. “And no one leaves until I do. Well,” he chuckled, “if you leave at all.”

“Whatever kind of game you think you’re playing—”

“Ding ding, prize to the Champion,” Death Eye interrupted Shiro’s low growl. “A game. Yes! We are here to play a game!”

“We will not play any such game,” Allura sounded then and Lance let out a slow breath at how _calm_ she sounded. In control. “We came to this planet in response to a distress beacon. You, Death Eye,” and Allura somehow managed to make his name sound both regal and like an insult, “are not in need of assistance and we have no time to waste on such matters.”

“You are mistaken, _Princess,”_ came the drawl. “I am in very dire distress. You see,” there was an odd sound then, a scratching sort of metal on metal, “it has been well over a week since my rifle has tasted death, since I have felt the _thrill_ such a sight brings, and I am very _distraught.”_

“We are leaving,” Allura said, voice still even. “Paladins, return to the Lio—”

A sharp _crack_ split the air…

And then Allura _screamed._

“Allura!” her name came in panicked over the headset and Lance had barely pivoted towards the direction she had traversed in, a couple blocks over, when Death Eye sounded again.

“Do not move or the next one will be through her head,” he said pleasantly.

Lance froze.

Allura’s pained wheezes echoed over the comms.

“Allura?” Pidge asked, voice small.

“I… I am here,” she said, breathless. “But I…”

“I shot her through her stomach,” Death Eye filled in. “A nice clean shot, shouldn’t be fatal if she gets medical treatment in the next couple varga. Ah! Black Paladin take another step and I’ll take her out before our game even begins.”

Lance’s mind flew. This guy had visuals on at least three of them; Pidge, Allura and Keith.  Allura was down—

“Oh, what is this I see? Healing yourself, Princess? What a fascinating ability, it will be almost a shame to kill someone like you. But very well, if you are insistent on negating my point I shall simply pick another target.”

“Wait,” Lance’s tongue tripped over itself. Points? Targets? What was he doing? Was he going to shoot someone else? “What—?”

Another sharp _crack_ split the air.

There was no scream that time but a choked sounding inhale that Lance couldn’t quite identify. Not Pidge, was all he could tell.

Hunk? Shiro? Keith? _Who?_

“I am impressed, Champion. A direct hit to the chest and nothing. You must have been _terrifying_ in the Galran’s arena.”

“Shiro!” Keith sounded panicked. “Shiro! Hold on. I’m—”

“Take a step Black Paladin and I will kill him. And wouldn’t that be a _tragedy_ after all you’ve been through? _”_

“Fuck you,” Keith snarled but based on the lack of a gunshot he’d held his ground.

Lance’s gut clenched. The only ones unaccounted for at this point were himself and Hunk but Lance had the sick feeling Death Eye could see them too. _How_ he had no idea as his own vision was blocked by the tall building skeleton next to him and the others must be in similar locations but this guy was seeing them all.

He had to be up high. Very high.

A sniper’s nest.

Lance swallowed thickly.

Death Eye was a sniper. The name, the sharp vision, the insanely accurate shots in this terrain…

He had a sinking feeling about this alien’s interest in him.

Lance cast his head up but only the shadow of the building against the orange sky greeted him. He needed a better angle, but to do that he’d have to move and he didn’t dare do so. Not if this guy had a gun trained on Shiro and it clearly able to go through the Paladin armor.

What did he do?

“What game?” Hunk piped in carefully, a waver to his words.

“I’m so glad you asked! Let me explain the rules; a game is no fun without rules.”

“Then tell us,” Keith growled as Death Eye went silent and Shiro’s faint pants echoed over the comms.

Lance wondered how bad it was. If Shiro was…

He shook his head.

No.

Shiro was fine.

He _had_ to be fine.

“Your communications have been cut off from your ships,” Death Eye spoke. “Any attempt to return to them will be seen as breaking the rules and I will kill you where you stand.”

Lance did not doubt him.

“I have enacted a forcefield of my own design about your ships preventing any smaller lifeforms from passing through. I have no doubt the mighty Voltron Lions could break through but if they do, again, I will kill you before they can even think to rescue you.

“The aim of the game is simple. Your precious, _beautiful_ sniper,” the word came out a purr and Lance felt his stomach twist again, “is the player one of this game while the rest of you are the collateral. His goal is to kill me before I kill all of you. Fun, fun _fun.”_

Horrified silence echoed.

Death Eye was going to kill everyone...

Unless Lance killed _him?_

“Of course,” Death Eye continued, “this would be no fun as I could take you all out here and now and I want to _play_ with the loverboy.” He laughed then and if Lance’s hairs hadn’t already been raised they were now. “Oh, the things I have heard about you. Your skill, your grace… your _beauty.”_

And for once in his life Lance did not want the compliment.

His tongue was thick though and he couldn’t seem to move it.

No one else seemed to be able to either.

“The stories they have told,” Death Eye said. “So, so many stories. I have heard them all. I _love_ them all. But what I love most of all is a _challenge._ Your gun, your eyes your skills against mine, Loverboy Lance, promise me the thrill I have been seeking.

“And then, when the game concludes and I have proven that I am the best sniper this universe has seen, I will have my prize. You, cradled in my arms, a perfect circle between your eyes.”  Lance felt his breath hitch and the sick feeling press in. “And you will drip red, blood flowing over your hazy blue gaze, and you will be _beautiful_ and _mine_ and—”

“Shut up,” Keith growled, cutting off the stream. “Shut up you sick fuck.”

“Lance,” Allura called and while her voice was tight still with pain, not fully healed, the concern there was stronger, Hunk echoing her with a touch more panic.

“H-here,” Lance managed.

What exactly was he supposed to say to… to _that?_

He shuddered.

“How _dear_ you are to them, Loverboy,” Death Eye murmured. “What a true delight. You—”

“Pidge, can you cut out his signal?” Keith interrupted again.

“Working on it.” Her voice was sharp.

“You are very talented, little Green Paladin, but we both know you can’t do so, not with your current resources. And I assure you, I have more than enough at my disposal to counter any attempts.”

“Fuck you.”

Which was as good as confirming Death Eye’s words.

“Now, now, let’s all play nice here. And we should play soon, yes? Otherwise your dear Champion may not even have a chance to start.”

“Shiro!” Keith sounded again on the comms.

“‘m here,” came a heavy whoosh of air followed by a soft groan. “It’s not… not vital, but…”

But it could be with enough time, enough blood loss. And Shiro’s body was still weak.

He needed help.

Now.

Lance swallowed thickly, off comm. He needed to focus, to get his head on straight. He couldn’t let any of Death Eye’s taunts and words get to him. He needed a solution.

Focus.

Focus.

He keyed back on, voice even. “What are the other rules?”

“Aww, someone is eager to play with me. I’m _touched,_ Loverboy.”

Lance didn’t respond to it, forced back the sick feeling trying to take up residence.

Death Eye wanted a reaction.

Well, that at least was one game Lance could play.

Or, attempt to.

His skin was still prickling.

“You have three varga from when I say go,” Death Eye said. “Every twenty dobashes I will shoot one of your teammates. The first shot will be a non-fatal one as a little incentive. But once I have made it through all of those, which given the remaining standing Paladins, will give you one and one third varga, I move to headshots. I trust you can figure out what happens then. Oh!”

He sounded surprised then, but not entirely. “One last thing. I see your space wolf, Black Paladin. That’s cheating and we can’t have cheating. I don’t like to hurt animals, but…”

Keith’s sharp inhale echoed over the comms just as a crack split the air.

“Keith!”

“Kosmo!”

Voices were clamoring over the comms, gaining volume with each passing tick of no response from Keith.

Lance felt sick and for entirely different reasons from before.

Because of him… because of Death Eye’s game that he was the cause of…

Kosmo was d—

“He’s okay,” Keith’s voice was thick but clear. “He’s…”

“I told you, I do not like to hurt animals,” Death Eye chimed in. “The wolf has been hit with a stunner that should keep him out until the three varga limit. He will be free to leave along with your remaining companions aboard your ships when all is finished.

“Now, the final rules. No one save for the dear loverboy is allowed to move about. You are collateral, game pieces, not players. Any questions before we start? I am very eager to start.”

“What if I refuse to play?”

The question passed Lance’s lips before it had even fully formed but he nodded at it.

What then?

“Oh, I will be very unhappy, Loverboy. Very unhappy. And there will be consequences.”

Lance figured as much.

He swallowed then.

He could fix this.

Death Eye’s obsession was with _him._ Not the others.

If he could get them out of here… save _them..._

“Then… then penalize me. Just me. This is between us, right? Not them.”

“Lance!” Hunk sounded panicked. “What are you—?”

“I’ll play your game. But… but leave them out of it.”

Death Eye laughed. “You are _precious._ So sweet, so naive. But oh, my dear loverboy, you are _too_ innocent. I know of your compassion, your heart. I told you, I have heard the stories. You are reckless, beautiful boy, when it comes to others safety. No, no, your friends _must_ be a part of this if I am to enjoy myself. And maybe you’ll find yourself enjoying the game too.”

Lance physically recoiled.

 _Enjoy_?

What?

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Death Eye said with a low laugh. “You don’t need to hide it, not from me. I _know_ you, Loverboy. I know _everything.”_

“You don’t know me,” Lance snapped, not sure what the sudden heat pooling in his gut was, but he didn’t like it.

Didn’t like the familiarity, the innuendos, the picture Death Eye was painting with his words.

He had to stop responding, had to stop reacting, it was what he wanted, but…

But his stomach was curdling and acid was creeping up his throat and he _couldn’t_ ignore it.

“But I do. We snipers are all alike after all, no matter how much you pretend you are not, that you are _good_ and _merciful_ . It’s what I love so much about you. You live behind that facade and you _believe_ it. So innocent.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lance bit out, to his alarm his right hand trembling at his side.

He didn’t like where this was going.

“But you do. We _live_ for the thrill of that perfect shot, for that moment where the world goes still around us as we breathe with our hand on the trigger, holding it as tenderly as a lover. That beautiful, perfect moment where we squeeze it, _feel_ it,  that power that we are above them all. That we hold their lives in our hands.”

Lance’s breath hitched.

No.

It wasn’t like that. Sniping wasn’t like that.

Even though…

Even though he knew what Death Eye was saying.

He _knew._

And it scared him.

“And then,” Death Eye let out a soft moan. “And then when it strikes it is a chorus, a symphony, a _celebration_ of us, of our success. It is _beautiful,_ Loverboy. That _thrill,_ that _completion.”_ He let out another moan. “Perfection.”

“You’re sick,” Pidge growled although her voice was trembling. “You sick, depraved asshole. Lance, don’t listen to—”

“Silly girl, he doesn’t just listen. He _knows._ He is the same. Aren’t you, Loverboy? We are the same. Mind, soul and body. And oh, what a body.” He let out a sound, almost a giggle that sounded absolutely _unhinged._ “Soon it shall be mine, wrapped up in my arms where the second game and my fun will—”

“Stop,” Lance cut in, voice higher than he’d like as Death Eye’s words rattled in his brain and his own finger twitched on his blaster trigger. He tried again, pitching low. “Stop.”

“Aww, does the truth hurt, Loverboy? Or are you _excited_ by it? I am. I most definitely am. If you could see me you’d see how excited I am.” He let out a low laugh. “Oh, yes…”

“We are not alike.” Lance’s hand tightened on his bayard. “People’s lives... People’s lives are _not_ a game.”

“But aren’t they? Aren’t we all just playing this game called life? And you, Loverboy, you are playing God just like me.”

“No,” Lance denied. “I’m not.”

And he wasn't.

He…

He made those shots because he had to. He’d started off this war naive, true, and he still avoided killing whenever he could; a strike to a dominant arm or a debilitating hit to the chest normally enough.

But…

But he couldn’t deny he had had to take permanent shots, ending a life in a blink of an eye.

Ending the life of a target who didn’t even know they were such.

Who never saw it coming.

His stomach twisted.

It was _different_ though. It was. He made those shots to _protect_ people; innocents and his team.

And he hated doing it.

Even if…

Even if he couldn’t deny that when he made that perfect shot...

Lance shook his head.

No.

_No._

It wasn’t like that.

 _He_ wasn’t like that.

“Oh, look at you, Loverboy. Yes, yes, I love that look. You realize it, don’t you? How alike we two are?”

“That is enough!” Allura snapped and Lance found himself listening, her anger and fierceness and _pride_ pushing away the pulsating sickness for the moment.  “Lance do not listen to a word this _praxia_ says. He—”

“I’ve had enough of you too, Princess,” Death Eye’s voice had lost its amusement. “All of you. No more. Quiet now.”

There was a sharp buzz of static then and then quiet.

Death Eye let out a sigh. “There. All better. It’s just you and me now, Loverboy, the way it was always meant to be.”

“Hunk?” Lance called, ignoring him. “Allura?”

Silence.

“Pidge? Keith? Shiro?”

Still silence.

“I have muted their outgoing channels,” Death Eye spoke. “But they can still hear us. And I’ll be sure to give them their voice back when it’s their turn for a penalty. I admit, I’m not as excited by the screams of pain from a living subject but they have their own beauty I suppose. And I daresay they’ll be the motivation you need.”

Lance’s hands clenched.

His pulse pounded in his ears but not loud enough to drown out Death Eye’s voice.

Oh _Dios._

This was happening.

This was actually happening.

His team’s, his space family’s lives, were solely in his hands.

Oh _Dios._

“You have three varga total until all of your team is dead,” Death Eye said. “In that time you must find me and kill me. Otherwise I will kill you for my grand finale. I promise you though, your death will be _beautiful._ An end befitting one such as yourself.”

He laughed then, cruel and amused all at once. “The game starts now, Loverboy. Come. Let us see what you are truly made of.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commissioned fic for hillshollow (15k) that will span four chapters with an overall premise of a sniper’s game/duel with Lance’s opponent getting off on the kills and being all around a bit… psychotic. I’m a sucker for sniper!Lance as well as BAMF!Lance in addition to boatloads of angst and whump to go around so let’s get this party started.
> 
> Update schedule will be posted weekly Wednesdays although hiatus next week for Halloween. I debated posting it so early now but trying to wrap up all my postings before the year ends and it’s gonna be close >> Here we go.
> 
> If you’re enjoying the fic please do leave a comment. I really appreciate it. Thanks :)


	2. Two

He needed to move.

Lance had no idea what exactly he was going to do, how he was going to play this farce of a game, but standing frozen wasn’t the answer.

He was going to get them all killed.

Oh _Dios._

Lance took a step forward out of the shadow of the building for all the good its cover had done him. He took another and then stopped, frowning, and rerunning the thought through his head.

“Cold feet already, Loverboy?” Death Eye taunted. “Come now, you can’t save them if you don’t play.”

“You can see me,” Lance said slowly, choosing his words carefully.

A laugh. “Clearly.”

“That’s… that’s not a very fun game, is it?”

Because if Lance operated within the current parameters they were all dead. The only way he could win was if he took out Death Eye, but the alien could see him coming and could reposition as needed while Lance was running around down below. It wouldn’t be a sniper’s duel as Death Eye seemed to want but rather shooting fish in a barrel.

A good sniper consisted of two main things: aim and position. And as good as a shot as Lance was he would be _useless_ without the element of stealth, of setting up in his own nest and hunting down Death Eye the way he was stalking them all from his location. Lance knew he could be pretty showy but when it came down to it he was just as capable of being silent and blending into his surroundings. He hadn’t picked his Monsters and Mana character for no reason after all.

“You are quite right. Oh, I should not be so surprised. You are much smarter than they all give you credit for, aren’t you, Loverboy? They call you the stupid one, the dumb one, and yet here you are. You are such a _treat.”_

Lance tried not to wince at the words. There was no way Death Eye could have known about their experience in that awful game show to use those words specifically, but…

But it was still too soon.

He had thought he’d proven himself, somewhat, over the last couple months as not just the flippant, carefree goofball of the team but…

But apparently not enough.

Not enough to where even all of those stories Death Eye mentioned, all those accomplishments and people he’d saved, somehow carried with them those flaws as well.

He knew better than to respond to it though, to defend. It would just invite more barbed words at his intelligence and while he knew he was no Hunk or Pidge he wasn’t dumb.

He wasn’t.

“The game?” Lance prompted, burying the dig beneath what was truly important and that was his team’s safety. He _needed_ a change to the current rules as right now Death Eye held all the cards and he had none. If this play, this challenge, didn’t work then…

Then Lance didn’t know how he was supposed to win.

And he could not lose.

He felt sick thinking about it.

Kosmo’s apparent death had been terrifying enough, to know he could lose his _family_ just like that, one _crack_ in the air and gone...

_Dios._

“Of course, of course. I want a challenge after all, a true sniper’s duel.”

Lance shuddered out a breath.

Death Eye had gone for it. He knew his odds were still horribly skewed but at least now he had a chance.

A chance to kill someone.

His hands were shaking again.

This was different from previous missions where he only killed if he absolutely had to. Despite his skillset he had _never_ been sent out on a mission with the ultimate goal being someone’s death. It was always protect, defend, rescue.

This…

This was…

To protect, to defend, this time he had to _kill_ with no other option.

And although it sounded as though Death Eye was no innocent, was someone dripping with blood and death, even then…

Even then Lance wished he didn’t have to do this.

But…

His eyes narrowed and his hands steadied.

He would do _anything_ to protect his family.

He couldn’t let Death Eye get to him, no matter what he said. He was doing this to protect others, to save them. Not for the thrill, not for the shot or the challenge or that single, breathless moment where the world went still.

He was doing this for one reason and one reason only.

He would play the game but he would _not_ enjoy it.

“So let’s make this fun, Loverboy,” Death Eye sounded again over the comms. Lance held his breath as he waited for the new terms.  “I will give you five dobashes now outside of our countdown where I promise, on my own soul, to close my eyes and allow you the opportunity to hide yourself from me. But I warn you,” and there was amusement back in his voice, “no one hides from me for long. I _always_ find my target and you, Loverboy, are one I desperately wish to see.”

Lance filed away the information unintentionally given. Death Eye didn’t have any type of X-ray vision or heat vision or something as it did sound like Lance would be able to conceal himself effectively, but he was capable of seeing him from his location. Given the ruins about the city and the tall spires and how he knew the team had split up there was no possible single location to see them all which meant that Death Eye either had cameras (which Lance nixed immediately as even with the sightline through them he physically would not be able to shoot _through_ a camera) or he was a mobile sniper with multiple nests.

And to do that… he must have some sort of ability to switch between the two.

His breath hitched.

Death Eye had known about Kosmo’s ability. He _had_ to have known if he had said the wolf’s presence was cheating.

Could he somehow teleport too?

It made sense. Although calling him on it would do no good; it would tip Lance’s hand that he knew Death Eye wasn’t stationary and if it was an ability to Death Eye’s species then it wouldn’t be considered cheating; no more than how unfair this situation was already.

How did he fight a teleporter though and one who had apparently insane vision as well as aim?

He needed to hide, as Death Eye said. He needed to go to the ground, somehow sneak about in the shadows and keep off his radar while picking out Death Eye’s locations and finding the one where he resided to take the shot.

And to do that...

His white Paladin armor needed to go.

There was a reason the Blades outfits were black; they were stealth operatives and assassins. The Paladins of Voltron were not. They were the symbol, the front line, the _hope_ the universe needed to see coming. They didn’t hide.

But Lance needed to.

He couldn’t be a Paladin of Voltron right now.

His stomach clenched at the implication. He shoved it away.

“When does my time start?” he asked instead, not responding to the taunt.

Death Eye responded in kind, his amusement blanketed again and the way he did so, switching between the emotions, only reiterated to Lance his earlier assessment of unhinged. “Now.”

Lance moved.

He needed to get some distance between himself and his current location, but not too much. That was what Death Eye was no doubt expecting; for him to cover as much ground as possible inwards towards the city and where the taller buildings resided and where a sniper was most likely to set up.

He had to do something different. He had to surprise him, somehow.

So Lance veered over one more block and then ducked into one of the many decimated but still intact buildings, this one looking to have been a residence. There were no windows or openings save for the door and Lance moved further back into the darkened interior.

His helmet crackled as he set about yanking off his leg braces with trembling hands.

“To the other members of Voltron, be warned. Any attempts to move and hide yourselves during this time and I will kill Champion where he stands. Or, well,” a laugh, “sits is more accurate. How are you doing, Champion? Is the pain what you remember? The blood? How many memories of your own kills does this bring back, hm? Tell me, tell me.”

Death Eye must have switched back on Shiro’s comms because there was the sudden sound of ragged breathing echoing over the line.

Lance’s heart lurched even as he set about pulling off his foot guards.

Shiro did not sound good.

“You’re live, Champion, Shiro the Hero. Go on, talk to your adoring fans.”

“Fuck you,” came a breathless snarl.

Lance dropped the guard with wide eyes.

He’d never actually heard Shiro swear.

That…

That could not be good.

“Ooh, harsh. But no thank you. There’s only one here who holds my interest. Isn’t that right, Loverboy? You and me, me and you. Together in this beautiful embrace of death, this tightrope of love and lust.”

Lance shuddered and pulled off his arm guards.

He hated how his stomach continued to swim with every utterance despite his plan to not react.

Death Eye’s words made him feel sick.

“Lance,” Shiro sounded again and this time his voice was softer but no less fierce and Lance stilled, listening, _needing_ to hear from Shiro, hear something other than Death Eye’s poison. “It’s going to be okay. Buddy, you’re—”

“And that’s enough,” Death Eye cut Shiro’s audio. “I want your pain, Champion, not your empty platitudes. You, comfort my loverboy?”

My?

_Dios._

“None of you appreciate him,” Death Eye continued, voice rising.

Ranting.

Lance shivered.

He forced himself to continue removing his armor.

“But I do. I appreciate _everything_ about him. It is why I am here, to see him for myself. And as beautiful as he is now he will be even more so drenched in blood when I have won, when I have proven myself the best of the best. I shall keep his corpse as my trophy and whenever I gaze into those blue eyes I will remember this day, remember that moment.”

Lance got to his helmet.

It needed to go like the rest, a shining beacon of white against the darker landscape. And quite frankly Lance wouldn’t mind _not_ hearing Death Eye’s voice.

But…

But it was foolish to cut himself off like that. He needed to remain in contact, to see what he could glean from Death Eye that could help him, maybe unsettle him too.

Lance let out a soundless laugh.

No.

Death Eye was already unsettled, insane, really.

He had to try and use that.

He could use that.

It just…

Just meant playing along with this other game.

He swallowed thickly, throat bobbing as the feeling of _wrong_ twisted inside of him. He had to though.

But he still had to ditch the helmet.

Lance pulled it off, visor retracted and dug his fingers into the padding that kept it secured to his head, and _tore_ it back.

The comms he knew from watching Pidge and Hunk gleefully dissect the armor to install all sorts of advanced updates and software were embedded into the helmet in two pieces but they were removable; as evidenced when Pidge had taken them out to reprogram the outgoing voices into a mixture of squeaky pitches and deep guttural ones that coming from Shiro and Allura respectively had nearly killed the three of them from laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe.

“Three dobashes left, Loverboy.” Death Eye’s voice crackled from inside the helmet and Lance mentally marked the countdown.

He had to hurry it up.

Lance freed both pieces; the earphone a sphere about the size of a marble that was a lot more advanced than it looked.

Lance popped it in his ear, wedging it down. A quick shake of his head showed that it held but he would have to be careful.

The microphone was trickier; it was a thin bar like one would imagine for a headset and connected to another bar and while it was long enough to stretch up from his cheek to his ear he had no way to secure it.

He cast his eyes about the single-room residence, lighting upon a chest that seemed to function as a wardrobe if the garment hanging out of the top was any indication.

Lance ripped what might have been an armsleeve free on a black colored item and tied it hastily into a headband and positioned it over his head in a way that eerily resembled his Monsters and Mana character. Lance hoped that was a good sign; he could use some of Pike’s stealth and invisibility right now.

But not his luck with dice rolls.

Lance paused at the thought, the realization that he was comparing this to a game.

A game.

But not the same thing, he shook his head, wedging the microphone up into the headband and secured against his head.

Not even close.

He wrapped the helmet in a piece of the dark fabric and then tucked another long piece about his belt, hiding its whiteness, and attached the bundled helmet to it, clunking awkwardly against his right thigh.

He needed it though. Not for the comms now but for what it could offer.

A distraction.

“One dobash,” Death Eye giggled directly inside of Lance’s ear, the volume at least not too overbearing. Lance patted his microphone, relieved that at least it had an on and off so he could mute himself like he was doing now, made sure it was secure, and then picked up his bayard that had transformed back into the standard carrying form.

He left it as such after wrapping it too in a piece of cloth; less bulky and he had no need to transition to a sniper rifle until…

Until he had to.

He stole out the door then, counting down the ticks as he ran, keeping to the lengthening shadows of the buildings, now blending almost seamlessly against the dark color.

He let out a breath.

He could do this.

The city was set up as a giant circle approximately ten miles in diameter. They had all entered in on the same side but had split wide; Lance had gone the farthest to the right putting him in the worst location to getting back to the middle where the city’s grandest buildings were situated and where Death Eye _had_ to be in some capacity as none of the buildings leading into it offered the height required for him to have a bead on everyone as he did, even with potential teleportation abilities.

It was at least three miles in.

Three miles of having to remain unseen while beelining for an area that Death Eye was expecting him to go to.

No.

He couldn’t be so obvious. Even with the darker clothing the movement would be too much as there was nothing else moving in this dead city.

He needed to go around, backtrack out.

Not entirely, but at least come in from the side rather than the front, a total of about five miles from his current location.

But that…

It would take at least thirty minutes, probably longer (much longer) as Lance couldn’t outright run. Forty would be closer and even that might be generous.

Forty minutes would mean…

It would mean two shots.

Two of his family were going to be _shot_.

He didn’t have a choice though.

And at least they weren’t fatal.

Lance couldn’t believe he was trying to justify his actions. Or, inaction.

“Time’s up!” Death Eye sounded gleeful. “Oh, the game can begin now. I’m so excited, Loverboy, so excited. Where are you where are you?”

“Where are you?” Lance shot back as he moved along the back length of an outer perimeter building, determined to not let his unease show and stick to his plan of trying to obtain any sort of information. This section had near perfect coverage and he moved as quickly as he could, landing on the balls of his feet and flexing his ankle to absorb the impact to keep his footfalls near silent.

“Cute, but no. That would spoil the game. You have to find me, Loverboy. Hunt me down, pursue me, fixate on _me._ I promise, I will do the same for you.”

“You need a new hobby.”

Death Eye laughed. “You are adorable. I love it. But you are mistaken. I am quite enamored with my current occupation.”

“I think,” Lance moved down a lateral alley, slower but still quickly, “you should expand your horizons. Everyone needs a change of pace.  Maybe painting or gardening for you. You know, something a little less violent.”

“But such things do not interest me. Do they interest you, Loverboy? No. Because there is no thrill to them, no excitement.” Lance could almost hear him smirk. “They do not offer the sweet whisper of death.”

“You’ve got a one track mind, dude,” Lance cleared his current section and ducked down into another alley, fully obscured.

He sprinted.

If he ran fast enough maybe he could escape the words echoing in his ear.

A whisper of death all their own.

“Perhaps. But it is what I know, what I love. Although I will admit,” Death Eye let out a sigh, “it has become rather rote of late. An assassination here, a slaughter there, all easy, all simple. It is _boring.”_

“So stop,” Lance answered as he came out of his sprint, chest heaving and he tried hard not to pant into the comms.

He wasn’t very successful.

“Oh listen to you,” Death Eye murmured and his voice was thick. “Someone is having fun, hm? Heart pumping, blood flowing. _Mine_ certainly is, amongst other things.” He let out a low moan and Lance shuddered at the insinuation.

He broke back into a jog and ignored it.

Death Eye let out a sigh a few moments later. “I can’t stop, you see. Even those kills, as boring as they are, make my blood rush for a split moment. That beautiful, perfect moment.”

Lance’s lips flattened into a thin line.

Death Eye sounded like… like an addict. He got his highs on the kills but as the challenge waned so too did the potency.

He was craving something stronger, something to reignite him.

And Lance was his new drug, his new high.

And because of it…

His entire family was in danger.

“Ten dobashes in,” Death Eye called out in the ensuing silence a few minutes later. “Where are you, Loverboy? Are you hunting me down? I’m excited to be a target. What a _thrill._ My heart is beating, I can hear it. Will you stop it, Loverboy? Or will I stop yours?”

Lance continued to move silently.

He wasn’t even a mile in.

He needed to pick up the pace.

That was easier said than done.

The damage was getting worse though as he moved in, not a surprise as if the city had been targeted it made sense to go for the hub. It was both a blessing and a curse as the rubble was definitely shielding his movements but it was taking longer to pick around and he’d had to backtrack twice as he couldn’t chance going over some of the higher pieces in case it was noticeable to Death Eye’s current position.

“Why so quiet?” Death Eye asked in as a few more minutes ticked away. “I’ve heard you’re normally quite the chatterbox. Am I boring you? I do apologize. Here, how about we spice things up again? Let’s pick out the first target together, how about that?”

And even though Lance had known it was coming his stomach still lurched.

Someone was actually going to get shot.

And it was his fault.

No.

Not his fault. Not really.

It was Death Eye’s.

He was the one doing this, the one who was going to hurt them.

Anger burned hot and Lance let it fuel him, let it burn away the sickness and dread that was trying to sink in and fester against the whisper that if he hadn’t drawn Death Eye’s attention then they wouldn’t be in danger in the first place.

A growl reverberated in his throat. “Don’t touch them.”

“Ooh,” and Death Eye sounded far too pleased at the threat. “I like that. Oh yes, I like that. So _fierce._ I knew you were protective of them but to see it, to _taste_ it… how _delicious._ And yet… yet you do not sound quite desperate enough. I miss the sound of your fear. Let’s fix that.”

“I told you, don’t touch them.”

“Then you should stop me.”

Lance grit his teeth. Death Eye was more than aware that there was physically no way he could have done so at this point.

“Let’s see, let’s see, who should I shoot first? I feel like I owe the princess another hit, what do you think? Let’s see how that healing ability of yours works, Princess, when you look so _tired_.” He laughed. “Two minutes, Loverboy. Are you going to let me shoot your pretty princess?”

Lance sent a silent apology to Allura and kept running.

He needed to get clear of the current complex he was next to. And…

And he needed Allura to get shot.

 _Dios,_ he didn’t want her to but he needed the visual, needed to try and track where Death Eye might be perched. Even with all of his weaving Lance still felt confident in his direction and where Allura had last been located. Using that he could narrow down possible options to at least one of the sniper’s nests.

More data, Pidge would say. The more the better.

His data just happened to involve his team being shot.

 _Dios_ this was so messed up.

“Nothing to say to her? That’s a little heartless for you, Loverboy.” The alien chuckled. “Let’s countdown now, hm?”

Lance did his best to ignore Death Eye.

His footsteps still seemed to fall in line with the numbers.

“And thirty-one. And thirty. Gonna say anything to the princess, Loverboy?”

Lance reached the intersection and ground to a stop in the mouth of the alley.

He had a clear view of the city center; three miles out.

“Six…. five…

Lance didn’t want to respond any more than he had to to Death Eye, to give into his taunts. But he also didn’t, couldn’t, ignore the fact that Allura was about to be…

“Three…”

“Allura,” Lance keyed in, keeping his voice even.  “I’m… I’m sorry. I’ll fix this. I promise.”

“Lance—”

Allura’s comm had been turned back on.

“And one.”

Lance cast his eyes to the sky.

There was a sharp _crack_ like before and as Lance watched a sliver of yellow light pierced the air, a hair-thin beam that angled back in the direction he’d come. If he hadn’t been looking for it, hadn’t had his own pair of sharp eyes that picked out the barely there details on a regular basis, he’d have missed it.

It came from the second tallest tower; not the top though but what looked like an upper floor.

A tick later Allura didn’t quite scream but a strangled sounding yell echoed in Lance’s ear.

“Ooh, bullseye! Same spot as last time!”

“Allura!”

“L-La—” Allura broke off with a wet sounding cough. “Lan—”

A muffled sounding thump echoed.

Lance’s heart leapt into his throat.

No.

“And the princess is down, repeat, the princess is down,” Death Eye cheered. “Just lie there, princess, nice and pretty now. I’ll be back to put one through your head soon enough.”

“Allura, I’m sorry,” Lance choked out as her low moan sounded followed by another pained cough. “I’m coming. I promise.”

“There, listen to that. That _desperation._ I’m getting even more excited, Loverboy. Let’s hear more, yes? Come on, give it to me. Give it _all_ to me.”

“Shut up.”

“Someone does not sound happy.”

“I wonder why.”

“Ooh, sarcasm. Not something I expected from you, Loverboy. You’re the sincere type normally, aren’t you?”

“Sincerely shut up.”

Death Eye laughed.

Lance kept moving towards his target.

He knew it wasn’t likely, really wasn’t possible, but he _needed_ to get in position before Death Eye shot someone else.

He knew they weren’t (immediately) fatal but… but they were being _hurt._ They were in _pain._

They needed help and he was the only one who could do so.

He had to hurry up.

“Where or where are you, Loverboy?” Death Eye keyed in several minutes later. “I still don’t see you.”

“Good.”

Lance was going to assume that was a truthful statement as despite all that he’d done Death Eye did not seem to be a liar and he allowed himself a small, exhausted smirk as he moved around a fallen wall.

He was getting closer.

But not close enough, not fast enough.

Someone was going to get shot.

Who?

Hunk, Pidge or Keith were the options left.

Lance’s stomach clenched. He didn’t want _any_ of them to get shot, but…

But _especially_ not Pidge. That impact on her small body?

 _Dios._ Shiro and Allura already sounded like they were in trouble, Pidge would be…

He estimated he had about four minutes till the next shot.

If he could distract Death Eye, maybe, it would buy them some time.

But what did one converse with a psychopathic cocky sniper about? What would really draw his attention?

Lance grinned.

He had an idea.

“So, Death Eye,” Lance activated his comm.

There was the pleased sounding inhale on the other side. “Oh, Loverboy, you’re reaching out to _me?_ I’m _honored._ ”

Lance ignored the twisting in his gut and forced himself to keep going.

“You said that Death Eye was your most renowned name,” Lance said. “But I’ve never heard it. And I’ve traveled pretty far across the universe. So..."

He let it hang there.

“Well,” and Death Eye’s voice sounded like that of a condescending teacher but trying not to be, “you have been absent from current events for—”

“Nope,” Lance interrupted. “We’ve been around for a while, dude. I mean, _you_ heard of me and managed to track me down, but you? Nothing, nada. How do I know you’re even that great?”

“I am the _best,”_ Death Eye hissed and oh yeah, distraction accomplished. “I am the greatest sniper in the universe.”

“Uh huh.”

“I am! Have you not seen the shots I have made here on your team?”

“Um, let me think about that. _No._ Because there are buildings in the way. And I thought you had good eyesight, how do you miss a building?”

Death Eye let out a sort of screeching sound.

Music to Lance’s ears.

“So I’ve got no proof,” Lance continued. “I mean, sure, you definitely shot my teammates, but how do I know you made the shot? You could have rigged up some remote controlled guns or have a henchman hiding. I dunno man, I don’t think you’re really what you say you are. Greatest sniper? Don’t make me laugh.”

“No no no no _no,”_ Death Eye’s voice rose in pitch. “You are wrong. I am the best. The greatest. Everyone falls to me. Young and old and rich and poor! I have killed them _all!_ All of them, Loverboy! And now I will kill all of your team! And then I will kill _you!”_

“You’ve gotta find me first,” Lance said, fighting to keep his voice still light in the face of the threat.

“And I will.” The words were heavy with promise and scarily level once more.  “I will. And after accounting for the kills of your team… do you know what number you will be, Loverboy?”

“Zero?”

“Two thousand five hundred and eighty-six.”

Lance missed his next step and went stumbling.

What?

 _How_ many?

He’d killed _how many_ people?

“Speechless? I’m not surprised. It far exceeds your own number, Loverboy. A measly forty-two.”

Lance was glad he hadn’t started moving again as his legs trembled and threatened to send him to the ground.

Forty-two?

He’d killed…

Forty-two people?

No. No that was wrong.

That had to be wrong.

“I know, tragic,” Death Eye sighed. “It took me quite some time to hunt down your kill log but the Galra keep such lovely records and for the right price they were willing to part with their information. But despite the low number of actual kills I knew you were a worthy opponent as you had not a miss; each a perfect headshot. Amazing. Absolutely amazing.”

Lance felt sick.

He couldn’t remember even half of them.

Veronica had told him when she first taught him to shoot that he was not allowed to pull the trigger unless he was committed to it. When he had been accepted into the Garrison she had reiterated her earlier warning and advice. _“Once you pull that trigger you’ve made your choice and it is not one you can take back. You, especially you, will kill someone, Lance. Don’t forget that.”_

He had never forgotten her words.

But he had forgotten their faces.

Most of it had been a conscious decision. The first time he’d been forced to kill had been in the heat of the moment, Pidge cornered and the Galran in full armor save for a slit in his mask for his eyes. Lance had taken multiple shots on the Galran’s armor but they’d pinged away.

He hadn’t had a choice.

He’d still been sick, hunched over the toilet for hours when they got back to the castle.

He hated that he’d known that first kill would be far from his last in this war.

He had remembered, cataloged, the kills to start. Their faces haunted his dreams, turning sleepless nights due to homesickness and the quiet into nightmares of the past as no matter how he justified it, no matter what he said to convince himself he’d _had_ to do it, at the end of the day he had killed someone.

He wasn’t sure when it changed. Maybe when Lotor had first appeared on their radar? When Shiro had come back? When Keith had left for the Blades?

But he’d stopped seeing the faces, started seeing only what needed done, acting as a Paladin was expected to. He told himself he only ever did it when it was necessary, when there was no other option, and he still believed that. He may have been forced to be a killer but he was _not_ a murderer.

But… forty-two?

That was so…so _many._

“Of course,” Death Eye was speaking again and Lance almost welcomed it to break him from his own dark thoughts, “that doesn’t take into account the number of sentries. Over two thousand, easily, although completely accurate numbers for those were a little harder to pinpoint. It’s quite the impressive resume, Loverboy. You can see why I picked you. But now,” he chuckled, “it’s time to pick my next target. Any preferences?”

Lance didn’t have an answer, didn’t have any sort of comeback.

His distraction plan had failed.

Very, very badly.

 _He_ was the one shaken up instead.

Forty-two?

“No? Then I guess I’ll just pick… ah, yes. Precious. The best things come in small packages or so they say. Let’s not save her for last.”

Pidge.

He was going to shoot Pidge.

He was going to shoot Pidge and Lance wasn’t in position yet.

“Stop,” the word came out more a plea than a command. Lance swallowed and tried again as he forced leaden legs into a sprint for the mouth of the alley. “Stop.”

“Too late. Listen in despair, Loverboy. You failed her too.”

“Please, don’t—”

A gunshot split the air.

And Pidge _screamed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn’t this a fun game? Isn’t it? (I’m having fun. Death Eye is having fun. Does anyone else matter? ;p) Throw in some Lance angst and reflections on top of all of the current action and mmm, yes, let’s do this.
> 
> I was blown away by the interest and support of this fic last chapter. Holy cheeseballs, people. Thank you so much for all of the kind comments ♥ If you enjoyed this chapter I do hope to see you again! Share a favorite part, line, dialogue, creepy feeling (so many creepy feelings), etc. Thank you so much!


	3. Three

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck _fuck!”_

Pidge was surprisingly vocal for someone who’d just been shot and Lance felt his stomach untwist the slightest bit.

Was it not actually that bad? Had Death Eye… missed?

“Pidge?” he keyed in over her cursing.

“Lance!” she broke off. “Holy shit you can hear me.” She took a breath and then her words came fast and high. “Don’t let this fucker get in your head. You’re not like him, got it? You’re y—”

“Your team is annoyingly peppy,” Death Eye spoke over Pidge, ending her transmission.

“They’re perfect,” Lance snapped back, despite his tone feeling something warm and comforting settle in his gut.

Pidge’s words might have been sharp and quick (and she was okay, somehow, _Dios,_ but she was _okay)_ but they had somewhat quelled the sickness that Death Eye’s revelation had brought.

That’s right.

The number didn’t matter. He’d done what he’d had to protect his team, his family.

He wasn’t like Death Eye.

It wasn’t a game, wasn’t a record to break.

Death Eye sighed. “I had thought to grant you a small mercy for your small teammate as we both know a shot like the others would have taken her out too soon. And I can’t have that; I gave you a schedule and it must be kept.”

“Well gee, thanks.”

Lance had been going for sarcasm but it didn’t come off quite as strong as he'd like.

“You are _very_ welcome, my dear Loverboy.”

Death Eye had heard the failed attempt too.

Lance didn’t respond again.

Instead he looked to the buildings that he’d barely managed to get a glimpse of before the shot, and as he’d suspected the beam of light had come from a different location; the roof of a lower lying building maybe a mile from the previous one.

He was definitely mobile.

And he likely had three spots.

Allura had been closest to Lance and that had been the first building. Shiro had been next in line and then Hunk had been the next section over followed by Pidge. Keith was the farthest out.

Based on what Lance knew of the first location it was highly unlikely Death Eye had struck Shiro from it as it was practically between Lance and Allura’s locations if they were to converge on the center. And the strike on Pidge had been from too low of a location to see Shiro.

So likely, if he was lucky, Keith and Pidge were from one location, Shiro and Hunk on another and then Allura on the third. And it was definitely some sort of teleportation rather than running between the nests because of how Death Eye had been able to shoot both Allura and then Kosmo to start; the two farthest locations out from one another other than Lance’s original start spot.

Which meant that for the next two shots he’d either be in the Keith and Pidge location or he’d be in the unknown one to target Hunk.

Lance swallowed thickly.

He needed another one of his team to get shot.

That would eliminate two of the three locations and Lance would know where Death Eye would set up for the next hit. He _had_ to take him out then before he made the fifth non-fatal strike as if he didn’t…

Lance had no idea where Death Eye would move to, if he’d follow the same order from the first round or choose at random, and he didn’t have the time to sneak around in back alleys and cover himself with rubble piles to line up a shot.

Someone would die.

One of his friends would actually die.

And no matter that it was Death Eye that pulled the trigger, that forced him to play his game…

It would be Lance’s fault.

He couldn’t — wouldn’t — let that happen. He’d stop Death Eye after the next shot.

Or he would never be able to live with himself.

Lance looked up at the building he had stopped by, a taller one that was on par with the lower one that he’d seen Death Eye in, and took a moment to _breathe,_ heart thumping loudly in his chest from the running. He knew this angle would be where Death Eye would likely expect him to show, although more inwards toward the central hub given as Lance had swung wide. This spot was also the one he had eliminated as only Allura and maybe, maybe Shiro would be targets and both had already been taken out.

If he drew Death Eye’s attention here with a decoy, the helmet, it would give him better movement on the inside.

But it was too soon.

He couldn’t set up a sniper nest and never move again, especially when the last shot had been on Pidge who Death Eye knew Lance knew was much further to the right. If he set up here then it was telling Death Eye he knew he had multiple locations as even if he hadn’t seen the barely there flicker of the laser Death Eye _should_ to be in a more central location or so Lance would assume.

Lance pressed a hand to his forehead. _Dios,_ his brain hurt. There were too many variables, too many what-if, too many unknowns.

What he needed was to head further into the city towards Death Eye and also more in the direction of his team. Depending on if he shot Hunk or Keith, Lance would then have his answer. He’d set up the decoy in that location to keep Death Eye’s attention and then have to book it to a new location to snipe Death Eye’s other nest that he would go to instead to shoot his last teammate.

Now he just needed to think like Death Eye.

Who would he target next?

Hunk, Lance decided. After the comment about Pidge being small and going “easy” on her and her reaction to it, he would want to make a statement.

Oh _Dios,_ he was going to shoot Hunk.

And he had to let him.

For now he just had to keep moving, get closer to central so he could make out Death Eye’s position when he shot Hunk and then choose his own distraction location. He needed it to be somewhat within range though of where he could get an eye on the sniper as he prepared to hit Keith.

Lance silently did so.

Death Eye was strangely silent too but Lance would take it over the charged comments and the stomach-churning nausea his words brought on.

The going was harder now and Lance had to judge every step, every piece of unfiltered sky.

He wished he knew where Death Eye was. Even if he was at the third, unknown location, he could very well be bouncing between them all to keep tabs on them and to continue to scout for Lance.

Lance’s neck prickled as he crossed over another alleyway.

Someone was watching him.

 _Dios,_ he’d been spotted.

The lack of gloating in his ear wasn’t reassuring either as Death Eye might not be a liar but he was a sniper and a good one wouldn’t call out this knowledge.

Lance shivered but the feeling of an eye upon him did not fade.

Quiznak.

He’d been so careful. And still…

He’d failed.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to duck back out of range, to go back to ground this late in the game.

He had to try though.

He had to.

Lance pivoted to go change direction and froze.

It wasn’t Death Eye’s gaze he’d felt.

It was Shiro’s.

Shiro was sitting propped up against a broken piece of wall the next section over, single arm limp on the ground and half-lidded eyes staring in Lance’s direction beneath his visor.

Blood soaked his front; sharp red on the white armor and it had dripped down from the wound, just to the right of his heart, almost dead center in his chest, to pool on his legs and then onto the ground.

“Sh-Shiro,” Lance stuttered, horrified.

Shiro let out a weak cough and a line of crimson trickled down his chin.

Oh _Dios. Dios Dios Dios._ Shiro needed _help._ Lance was right _there._

And he could do _nothing_.

Shiro met his gaze and although he didn’t do anything there was an assurance there despite his state that things were going to be okay.

Lance let out a shaky breath.

“I’ll fix this,” he promised quietly. “I… I will. Just… just hang on, okay?”

Shiro gave him a slow blink.

Lance took that for a yes.

He retreated back, couldn’t cross over Shiro’s location as Death Eye could be watching it, and continued onwards.

“Three minutes, Loverboy, and I shoot another one. Are you even trying? Do you _want_ me to kill them? I think you do. Oh, what a twist. I admit I didn’t see this one—”

“Shut up,” Lance activated his mic.

“Ooh, did I touch a nerve?”

“I just want you to be quiet.”

“Ouch, Loverboy. That hurts.”

Lance didn’t respond as he entered the stairwell of a building that from the ground appeared both structurally sound and tall enough to make a decent fake nest of his own.

He plodded up the steps, chest heaving and side stitching from the constant running and exertion. His throat felt paper dry too and as the elevation continued to rise he found a few black dots swimming across his vision.

Not good.

He paused on the steps, bracing his hand on the wall and sucked in loud exhale, forcing himself to hold it, let it out and repeated it three more times.

He couldn’t afford for his vision to be compromised.

But _Dios,_ he was _exhausted._

“One minute. Oh, oh, where should I shoot him? Suggestions? Not the arm again, nope. No more mister nice guy.”

Lance didn’t even bother that with a reply.

Instead he focused on making it to the sixth floor where several windows had been blown out and provided him a clear vantage of the city. He knelt down, legs trembling from the climb, and keeping his head below the windowsill turned his gaze out giving him an unobstructed view of the line of buildings that Death Eye would be using deeper in.

Any second now.

And as expected there was a flicker of light.

Not expected was that it was from the same building Pidge had been shot at.

That…

That wasn’t right.

That couldn’t be—

Keith’s muffled sounding yell, as though he’d bit down on his tongue, burst in Lance’s ear.

No.

No.

This was _wrong._

“Keith,” he whispered, stomach plummeting for multiple reasons.

“L—”

Keith was cut off before he could even get to the second syllable.

“Oh, another stoic response, disappointing,” Death Eye sighed. “And right in the stomach too. Ah ah, I’d sit down if I were you, Black Paladin.” A pause. “There you go, that’s a good boy. Put some pressure on it now as it won’t be any fun if you bleed out before we get to the finale.”

“Keith,” Lance whispered again, too clearly picturing the scene in his mind, the visual from Shiro’s state not helping.

Were any of them even going to be alive to shoot later?

“It’s why I saved the best for laugh though,” Death Eye said and Lance could hear his grin. “You’ll scream nice and loud for me, won’t you, Yellow Paladin?”

He’d been wrong. He’d thought wrong.

And now…

He had _no_ idea where Death Eye was set up except that it was going to be in range of Hunk. But that could be a number of buildings, a number of floors, and Lance didn’t have the time to scout them out, to clear them.

He wasn’t sure, even if he were to beeline right for the city center and give away his location, that he’d get there in time as his legs were still shaking and he was becoming steadily aware of his own physical limitations as everything _hurt_ and the adrenaline rush born of fear was losing its power as real fear settled in.

He didn’t know what to do.

He choked on next breath.

He didn’t know what to do.

 _Dios,_ he didn’t know what to do.

He was going to get his family killed.

“What do I do?” he whispered aloud.

Only the wind answered him, a mournful howl as it blew past the broken window.

“ _Dios,_ what do I do?” His hands clenched in his hair. “ _Dios,_ I…”

He needed to do _something._ Sitting here would kill them for sure.

There had to be a way. _Something_ to narrow down Death Eye’s location, to give him a chance.

He took a strangled breath and then another, trying to push away tears threatening to strangle him.

Think.

Think think _think._

He had twenty minutes before Death Eye shot Hunk. There would then be twenty more minutes before he killed someone. Lance had forty minutes before he got one of his family killed. Death Eye would stick to his schedule, his rules, he would—

Lance sucked in a harsh inhale.

His rules.

He was _adamant_ on his rules, his times. He wouldn’t err from them.

But the players of his game could.

And Shiro…

Shiro didn’t have much time. Lance had seen it and no doubt Death Eye could assume the same; Shiro was in the worst condition, having been shot first, shot vitally and already weaker.

If he didn’t kill Shiro first…

Then he likely wouldn’t get a chance to kill him at all.

Shiro would be his target.

Lance swallowed. Shiro _had_ to be his target.

He couldn’t be wrong again. There was no time to be wrong.

And if Shiro was his target…

Then it meant Lance was in the right area, if Death Eye was sniping both Hunk and Shiro from the same location. He just needed to find Death Eye’s nest after he shot Hunk and then, somehow, in those twenty minutes reconfigure into his own spot and then…

Then he had to kill him.

His stomach turned.

He hated that it did. After all this, after all Death Eye had done, all the people he had killed, Lance still wished he didn’t have to… to do that.

He hated more that by doing so he was playing Death Eye’s game.

It couldn’t be helped though. He couldn’t take the chance of only disabling him, of Death Eye managing still to take a final shot.

He had to kill him.

Lance rose from his crouch, slowly, as the room gave a lazy spin around him.

He started for the staircase, but this time to go down.

He needed to make his decoy location somewhere else, somewhere further.

He headed towards Pidge and Keith.

It would make the most sense to go there anyhow. At this point Death Eye had to assume Lance had seen the laser and since the last two had come from the same location…

Ocean eyes widened.

Death Eye was playing his own game too. He was drawing Lance’s attention all the way to the right, to pull him out of range for when he went in for the actual kill.

It solidified his gut feeling that Shiro was going to be the first target.

He propelled tired legs into a light jog, struggling to remind himself to land softly, silently.

He made it about a half mile, nine minutes gone by now since the last shot, before he had to stop, breath coming out a wheeze.

Far enough.

Lance entered the building next to him and began a weary, exhausted trek up the stairs.

“Are you having fun yet?” Death Eye sounded in his ear.

Lance kept climbing.

“I am. Although I am getting impatient to reach the best part of our game. What do you think? How do you feel about changing the rules a bit?”

Lance froze.

What?

“No,” he keyed in, breath heavy. “No... change.”

“Oh dear, someone sounds _exhausted._ Are you sure? We can end this game sooner so you can rest.” A laugh. “Permanently.”

“I said no,” Lance bit out. “We… we stick to the rules.”

“You wish to prolong their suffering? I see how it is. They are all in quite a bit of pain, Loverboy. And they have you to thank for it.”

Lance shook his head. No. It wasn’t his fault.

Even if…

Even if it sort of was.

He grit his teeth and kept going.

“I admit, I am a bit disappointed. I had thought you would have done _something_ by now but not even a peep. What _are_ you doing, dear Loverboy? Are you even playing the game?”

Lance reached the roof.

Like many of the buildings here it wasn’t completely open up top but had decorative arches criss-crossing in the air. Several on this building had been destroyed, lying in chunks and providing cover to move behind.

Before he moved outside Lance unwrapped his helmet, bright white almost blinding in the darkened building.

Showtime.

He pulled it over his head and the sudden darkening, the cutting off of his furthest peripheral was disorienting. He didn’t have time to wait though and dropped down to the ground into an army crawl.

And then very carefully he began to pick his path across.

It was going to be a tough sell. He needed Death Eye to spot him, to know he was there, but not make it obvious that he was trying to do so.

By the time he reached the roof edge Lance hoped he had been successful. He picked a spot where his body was hidden by a piece of broken arch and the top of his head, his helmet, was a barely there blip above the crest.

He prayed it was enough.

Lying there, knowing that _he_ wasn’t going to be shot, Lance directed his sight to where Death Eye’s furthest nest he’d tracked was on the roof.

It was a fully covered one save for a break in the stone where it had been blown off. A perfect spot for a sniper.

And, Lance’s eyes narrowed, there was indeed a glint of _something_ there.

Death Eye?

His hand tightened on his bayard. Could he—?

The glint _moved_ and vanished.

Lance’s breath caught. He had been there.

And…

And just like him Death Eye had wanted Lance to see him, briefly. He wanted Lance to think he was there, to bide all of his time on that spot, and wait for him to reappear when he never would, not long enough for Lance to get a shot at him.

Two could play at that game.

Lance was just going to have to play it better.

Knowing that Death Eye had moved to another location for the moment, although no doubt he’d be back shortly to check on both Lance’s progress and Keith and Pidge, Lance quickly ducked under the arch and pulled his helmet off under the cover, shaking sweat-soaked bangs out of his eyes.

Now to sell it.

He cast his eyes about and they landed on what looked like a piece of wrought iron, a decorative piece for the arch. Lance scrambled over to it. He unhooked his belt and wrapped it about the metal and then covered it all as best he could with the scrap of cloth he’d had around the belt.

Makeshift mostly camouflaged gun, check.

He draped the larger piece over the helmet, eliminating nearly all of its bright white glow but the sheen of the visor unmistakable and not something he could do anything about if he were wearing it. Which he would be, in Death Eye’s mind, if he was active on the comms.

Lance swallowed.

That meant he needed to reach out again.

First though he needed to place his decoy.

He did so quickly, keeping a wary eye on the nest across the way for any barely there glimmer of movement.

Nothing.

And nothing until Lance was slowly backtracking across the roof and he froze, pressing his face into the ground and trying to channel himself as part of the foundation.

“A minute now until I shoot the Yellow Paladin,” Death Eye said and Lance didn’t think he was imagining the gleeful uptick in his voice. “And then the real fun starts. _I’m_ ready, Loverboy. Are you?”

Lance stayed quiet, lips pressed into the ground.

Had Death Eye taken his bait?

“Still creeping around down below? Where or where could my loverboy be?”

Lance’s lips crept into a grin at the overly casual teasing tone.

Hook, line and sinker.

His grin faded.

Now he just had to…

Had to…

“Let’s count down this time, shall we?”

And go.

Lance scuttled backwards into the building as Death Eye began to count down the minute and then charged down the stairs two at a time, side aching.

He had to hurry.

He needed to see where Death Eye made the shot from and then find his own building, get a trajectory and shoot him.

Easier than it sounded in more ways than one.

“—thirty-six… thirty-five…”

Lance hit the third floor. He stopped there, to use its windows that were decently high enough still to see.

“Three… two… andddd… one.”

A sharp _crack_ split the air…

But no light.

Why was there no light?

Hunk’s shout nearly shattered Lance’s eardrum.

“Oh, yes, music to my ears, beautiful, just beautiful,” Death Eye moaned. “What a pretty shot. And with my new gun no less. Air pressure packs quite the punch, doesn’t it?”

Hunk let out a whimper.

Air.

He’d shot Hunk with air.

No light beam.

No path to follow.

Untraceable.

Oh _Dios._

What did he do? What did he do?

“Hunk,” Lance keyed in, frantic. “Hunk, whe—?”

“Ah ah, the game pieces can’t participate, Loverboy. They’re just there to look pretty. Not as pretty as you, but I enjoy them still.”

Lance didn’t even hear the words.

He racked his brain instead, trying to remember how far apart Hunk’s path had been from Shiro’s, what that would mean in the converging circular city, _where_ Death Eye would be.

There were too many options.

Oh _Dios._ This couldn’t be happening.

“Now the real game begins. I wonder, I wonder, which of your team will you be the first to kill?”

Lance forced himself to move.

He had to go.

He had to find him.

Somehow.

Move.

Move move move _move._

“Is there anyone you particularly don’t like? I could eliminate them first. It might not hurt so much then.”

Death Eye still thought he was stationary on the one roof, or so Lance hoped, and he prayed that his reaching out to Hunk hadn’t tipped his hand.

“It’ll be quick. Instant death. Just the way we like it.”

He had to still be going for Shiro. He had to be.

“No mess. No fuss. The perfect kill. The perfect game. Isn’t this a fun game, Loverboy?”

Lance tore out of the building back the way he’d come. He had to get more central, had to get high.

Had to triangulate, had to find the nest, had to—

“I’m coming for you. I’m coming and you can’t stop me.”

Lance choked on a sob as he rounded the back of a building.

He was going to kill them.

Lance wasn’t sure who ‘he’ was referring to.

His heart felt like it was going to burst.

_Dios Dios Dios._

“You’ll look so pretty mounted on my wall. I’ll stare into your eyes every day, my dear loverboy. You’ll be my most beloved trophy.”

Lance dove into the tallest, semi-intact building he could find in the area and charged the stairs.

Hurry hurry hurry hurry.

He wasn’t going to make it.

Caution was warring with desperation and urgency and Lance felt himself being split down the middle.

Caution won as he reached the roof.

If he gave away his spot now then Death Eye _would_ move. He’d head back for Pidge or Keith or Allura where Lance couldn’t reach him and he would kill them.

 _Dios_ he was going to kill them.

Lance slunk to the edge of this roof, tall, at least, and cast his eyes out and wide.

He spotted the alleyway he knew Shiro was in, marked in his brain by the strange orange-colored spire that had fallen across two of the buildings.

Okay. Shiro was there and Hunk was…

Hunk was right below him.

Lance’s breath caught as he took in the form of his best friend, lying on his side with blood bubbling up from a gaping hole in his stomach in the road next to Lance’s current perch.

Lance tasted bile.

He choked it back and forced himself to _look._ Hunk’s wound was high on his stomach, just below his ribcage. Shattered crystal covered the ground around him; his shield. It hadn’t stood a chance. Hunk had likely been standing, Lance figured, both to use the shield and because no one was going to get shot sitting down. There was a higher building in front of Hunk, which meant that it would have been in the way of a shot and given the trajectory…

Heart thudding Lance pulled his eyes from Hunk’s form and back into the sky, towards the city.

There were two buildings that could have been tall enough to see over the one blocking Hunk.

Two was…

Was possible.

Maybe.

“Time’s nearly up. Five minutes, Loverboy. Is your blood pumping? Is it?”

Lance unwrapped his bayard and set himself up, hidden by the ledge himself and only the barest tip of his bayard visible as it peeked over the edge.

He brought his eye to the scope and began his search with the enhanced vision.

He went floor by floor, window by window, looking for _anything._

Please.

He had to find something.

His pulse thudded loudly in his ears and Lance realized his scope was shaking.

He forced himself to take a breath.

He could do this.

Focus.

Breathe.

Don’t panic.

He swallowed down the sob at how absolutely ridiculous that last part was.

Focus

Breathe.

Look.

“Two minutes. Death in two minutes. Oh, how exciting, how exciting.”

First building top five floors revealed nothing.

Lance shifted over an inch and started again.

He wasn’t going to make it.

There wasn’t enough time to check it all.

He was going to kill them.

He—

“One minute now. Let’s—”

“Please,” Lance’s hand found his headset even as his other hand remained steady on the trigger. “Don’t do this.”

“Begging won’t save them, Loverboy. But do go on, I love hearing it.”

“Please,” Lance repeated, starting now on the second floor from the top. “Please. You win.”

“Ah, so you were playing. Poorly, but you were playing.”

Next floor.

“You can kill me. I’ll… I’ll show myself.”

And Lance meant it too, with every fiber of his being. He would do _anything_ to save them.

“Now, now, there’s no need for that. And I will kill you. _After_ I’ve killed your friends. That was the game. And I will see it through to the end.”

Lance’s eye’s paused on a small opening, part of the structure crumbled away.

Was that…?

He adjusted the scope.

Oh _Dios._

It was him.

“Take comfort,” Death Eye continued. “You won’t live long to regret their deaths.”

Lance stared.

Death Eye looked…

Looked almost like a humanoid version of Kosmo. Dark skin that wasn’t hidden beneath a matte colored black armor had the barest traces of fur and there was a teal stripe visible on his neck.

And his eyes…

One was hidden behind the scope of his own sniper rifle — and it _was_ pointed in Shiro’s direction — but the other was a piercing gold surrounded by a ring of black.

Of death.

He was oblivious of Lance’s observation.

He still thought Lance was on the other roof.

Lance’s hands shook.

This was it.

“Thirty seconds now. I can _taste_ death, Loverboy.”

“ _Please,”_ Lance whispered, one last time.

He didn’t want any of this.

To be forced into killing…

Just like what Death Eye wanted.

“I will win,” Death Eye said.

Lance watched dark lips move in time with the words in his ear.

“And you will lose.”

Lance took a steadying breath and lined up his shot.

“You’re right,” Lance said softly, barely audible to even himself.

Death Eye would win.

Just not in the way he had envisioned.

And Lance would lose.

But he would not lose anyone.

Death Eye chuckled. “Of course I a—”

Lance pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game over :D Is there really a winner here though? Nope, not really. But yay Lance? Saving his team with literally seconds to spare. Look at our boy go!
> 
> Enjoy the fic? Please drop a comment ♥ It has been a… not good week for me (already >>) and I could certainly use the boost if you have a tick to do so. Thank you (and thank you so much to everyone who did so last week, I really appreciate it ♥). Last chapter publishing next Wednesday.  
> EDIT: 11-20-18; Unfortunately due to AO3's email server still being down at this point the fic will not be updated tomorrow. I will be giving it until 0900 hours CST to correct, but if it does not the fic will update next Wednesday instead.


	4. Four

Death Eye’s head exploded; a mess of teal blood and gore as the shot went in just below his furred, pointed ear and out through his visible eye.

Lance was violently sick.

Everything was a blur after that.

He’d gotten off the roof at some point, staggered to Hunk who had fallen unconscious. Lance had stripped off his gloves, Hunk’s too, and wadded them up and made a compress.

Red blood had dripped off mocha skin.

He’d been sick again.

He remembered trying the comms but no one had responded.

Still off.

He needed to fix that.

First though he needed to check on Shiro.

Shiro was unconscious too.

He wouldn’t wake up.

He was still breathing though, barely there puffs of air and skin far too pale.

Lance had shrugged off his undersuit shirt and tied the armsleeves tight around Shiro’s chest over the wound and affixed it as best he could as a pathetic blanket.

Lance had stumbled then for the city center, to Death Eye’s location.

He didn’t know how he got up the eight flights of stairs.

He shot out the giant radio transmitter looking thing in the corner and then the laptop next to it that looked to be running some sort of program. The forcefield, maybe.

He’d whispered for Coran. Said they needed help. Shiro needed help. Said he was okay. He could wait.

Coran’s voice had crackled across. _“Hold tight, my boy. We’re coming.”_

Lance had collapsed next to the broken tech, legs no longer supporting him.

He’d stared at Death Eye’s remaining eye, frozen wide and gold dulled.

He stared until Coran had found him one varga thirty-seven dobashes and twenty-six ticks later.

Coran had given him a water pouch, held it for him as Lance’s hands refused to let go of the sniper rifle over his lap, and then pulled him to standing and guided him out the door.

He ended up having to be carried when he nearly tripped down the stairs.

He remembered apologizing but the embarrassment was second hand to the exhaustion, the stifled horror.

They’d gotten back to the Lions.

There was only had one healing pod.

Lance couldn’t believe he’d forgotten that.

He’d let five people get shot.

And they only had one pod.

Shiro was inside it, face slack.

He would okay, Coran, had said gently. They’d gotten to him in time.

Pidge had been shot in the arm and had a temporary field dressing.

Everyone else had been shot in the stomach.

Keith’s was the  worst off not in a pod as it had gone through him completely and torn out his back while Hunk was a close second; the air gun _ripping_ open his flesh on the front.

Allura had managed to stem up the worst of hers but had gone completely unconscious from the effort and Romelle had reported, voice high with tears, that she had nearly depleted her quintessence, her lifeforce, to do so. The other Altean was holding tight to Allura’s hand and hoping Allura’s body would accept it, but no luck thus far. Still though, she would be okay with rest, Coran said.

A lot of rest.

But for Hunk and Keith…

Lance knew now why he’d smelled something burning when he’d entered the makeshift camp.

The burned, _cauterized_ wounds, fresh and red and _painful_ that Pidge was trying to wrap up told that part of the story.

He’d been sick again, all acid bile.

Pidge had rushed to his side, gripping at his shaking hands, but he’d shaken his head and begged her to keep… keep helping the others.

He couldn’t.

He’d only hurt them more.

She had squeezed his hands, whispered a thank you ( _thank you?_ For _what?)_ and gone back to Keith’s side.

Shiro would be in the pod for at least two more days, Coran had reported, and they would then move Keith to it and hopefully in the interim Allura would awake and could try and help Keith and Hunk as her quintessence replenished.

They would still be in so much pain.

He’d done this.

He’d caused this.

Lance had choked out apology after apology not sure he would ever be able to stop.

He’d done this.

This was his fault.

Coran had come over then as Lance knelt next to Hunk, limp hand clutched between his own still covered in blood, and forced upon him a cup he said would help him.

Lance had drank it only because Coran insisted.

He didn’t remember anything after.

xxx

Lance awoke to a sky speckled with stars and limbs feeling like they were made of rocks.

There was a gentle flickering to his right and Lance sluggishly turned his head towards it.

A campfire.

Fire.

Burnt flesh.

Because of…

Lance rolled onto his side as he gagged.

Hands were on his shoulders then, half-holding him up and one hand smoothing back his bangs.

“Easy, easy lad. I’ve got you.”

“C-Coran,” Lance coughed, spitting out a string of ropy bile.

“It’s all right. Let’s get you sitting up now, hmm?”

The world spun a bit as Coran easily shifted Lance upright and before he could blink a mug was being pressed into his hands. “Drink up, lad.”

Lance remembered what had happened last time he’d accepted a drink from the advisor.

“You drugged me,” he said slowly.

“What? No,” Coran waved a hand. “There was an herb to help calm your heart rate, yes, and I have may have in hindsight put a little too much in it for humans, yes, but…”

It had probably been for the best.

“How long was I asleep?” Lance asked, his eyes drifting about the clearing.

The pod with Shiro was parked on the opposite side of the fire and next to him was Keith, lying on a mattress with bandages wrapped all about his bare torso. Kosmo was curled up at his side and both seemed to be sleeping although even from here Keith’s face was drawn and sweat glittered in the firelight.

Hunk looked no better on a mattress next to him, lying on his back though and adorned with similar bandages. Pidge was curled up at his side and her face at least relatively pain free.

Allura was positioned on a mattress on Shiro’s other side and Romelle on one just to her right, her hand tangled up in Allura’s loose hair. Allura looked far too pale but she did appear to be sleeping rather than unconscious like last time.

“About six varga,” Coran said softly. “Now drink that, please. Your body needs it. I promise, no herbs.”

Lance lifted the mug to his lips, surprised to find his hands trembling at even that action. His entire body _ached_ as he became more aware of it and if Coran hadn’t kept an arm about his back he wasn’t sure he’d still be sitting.

It was some sort of tea, flavored maybe with honey. He took another heavy sip, letting it soothe his raw throat.

His gaze was drawn over to Hunk as he let out a low whimper and Pidge scooted closer even in sleep.

“They’re…?”

“They will all be all right. You saved them, brave boy.”

Lance choked on his sip. “S-saved them? Coran, I…” he gestured weakly. “I…”

“I heard what happened from Number Five,” Coran said gently.  “She and the others were privy to your entire conversation with that… that…” Coran seemed to be struggling to find the right word to describe Death Eye. “Praxia,” he finally said.

Lance knew that word. It was an Altean phrase to describe someone lower than scum.

It didn’t make him feel any better.

“Then… then you know I let them get shot,” Lance whispered. “You know I…” He swallowed thickly. “I _killed_ people, Coran. A… a lot of people.”

Forty-two people.

Forty-three now.

“I killed him,” Lance continued. The tea sloshed over the rim. He didn’t even feel it burn. “And I…I…”

He’d killed Death Eye.

And…

And he had been _glad._

Relieved. Grateful.

And there had been a whisper of satisfaction when his shot landed, crossing over a mile distance into the small opening barely the size of his own head, all set up in less than a minute. It had been a shot of the ages, one people would speak of in awe if they knew.

He had felt a moment of pride at his own skill.

And then it had morphed to horror because....

Death Eye had been right.

Because…

Because they _were_ alike.

“Oh, my boy.” Coran tugged the mug away with his free hand and then Lance found himself being pulled into one of the tightest hugs of his life. Coran’s moustache tickled his cheek and Lance bent his head over, burying his face into Coran’s jacket and accepting a comfort he did not deserve.

He was a praxia too.

“You saved them,” Coran repeated. “You saved them, Lance. You have saved _thousands_ of others with your actions.”

“No,” Lance protested with a choked sob.

“ _Yes,”_ Coran insisted.

“I killed him,” Lance said. “I killed him, Coran. And I…” The words came out a breath. “I was glad.”

“Well I should hope so.”

...what?

That was not the answer Lance had been expecting.

Coran’s hands shifted to his shoulders and pulled Lance back, jewel eyes meeting ocean.

“I’m glad you killed him too,” Coran said, as though it needed repeating.

It did.

Lance blinked.

Coran let out a heavy sigh and he suddenly looked older. “There are many things this war has taken, has stolen, away. You, precious boy,” Coran’s hand moved to cup his cheek. “You have suffered greatly from it. Your heart is too large for the horrors of this war. It has been hurt in a way it never should have been.”

Lance’s eyes were stinging again and he hiccuped back a sob.

“But no matter what horrors you have seen, what you have endured… you are light, my boy. You are still hope and innocence and laughter and love and it is something this universe desperately needs.

“Today you were forced into killing someone,” Coran said softly, rubbing his thumb against Lance’s cheek. “You were forced to see your team hurt. You were told it was your fault that that was so. And you, Lance, your heart is so big, your desire to take the blame, the burden, from all others that you took that one on as well.

“But it is not your fault, not your burden. You did what you had to to keep them alive, to give them a chance. You had to remain strong in the face of that praxia’s taunts, of his poisonous words, his cruelties. And you did. I am sure you were scared, that you felt lost, but Lance, you came through. Your desire to protect your team, your _family,_ overcame those fears.”

Coran’s hands shifted to Lance’s, trembling in his lap, and he lifted them into the air between them.

“These are not the hands of a killer, my boy,” he said, squeezing them. “They may have had to kill, yes, but that does not make you one.”

“But I…” Lance blinked to clear the tears. “But I… when I shot him…I felt… proud.” He winced. “It felt… good. Making that shot. Just like… just like he said…” He shook his head. “I… I’m no better than—”

“Ah ah, stop that thought right there.” Coran’s grip tightened. “You mean to tell me you are like that praxia, who has killed thousands for fun? To test his skill? To see if he could? No,” Coran shook their hands. “No, my boy. You are _nothing_ like that. You take pride in your ability? Good. You should.”

“But—”

“Lance,” Coran’s voice was sharper now. “ _Listen.”_

Lance had never heard Coran sound like this and he stilled.

“You are _nothing_ like him. Sharing a talent, a skillset, does not make you the same. Shiro is not a monster for all those he killed in the arena, Keith is not like Zarkon or Lotor for all his skill with a sword. Allura is not like Haggar although they both use magic. _You_ are not like Death Eye because you are a sniper.”

Coran’s voice gentled. “You are not the same boy who boarded the castle all those many months ago. You are not innocent anymore, no longer naive. You have killed people. You have hurt others. You have seen suffering and pain and not been able to save everyone from it. But such things do not mean you are cruel or uncaring. They mean that you have grown up. That you are no longer a child. You are a man. A Paladin of Voltron. A _hero.”_

Lance felt faint in the face of Coran’s quiet passion.

He…

He really believed all of that?

 _“_ And now I ask you,” Coran said into the quiet broken up only by the crackle of the fire and Lance’s repressed sobs. “Whose words do you believe?”

“Y-yours,” Lance whispered, voice breaking. “Coran…”

Coran released his hands and pulled him back into a hug, gentler than the last one but no less warm.

“Thank you,” Lance breathed, resting his head on Coran’s shoulder and tightening his own arms about Coran.

“It is I who thanks you,” Coran murmured. “You protected our family, Lance. You saved them.” His voice hitched. “Thank you. Thank you, dear boy.”

Lance felt Coran dip his head down and a kiss was pressed atop his head. “Thank you,” Coran repeated.

Lance’s eyes drifted over Coran’s shoulder to the occupants gathered about the fire.

They were still the same as they had been a few minutes ago but Lance wasn’t looking at them the same way.

They were hurt, yes. And in pain.

But they were alive.

Lance had kept them that way.

He’d had to look death in the eye to do so, its gaze cruel and dark, but he had done it.

And he would do it again.

And no matter how his words, his feelings, had been twisted he had _not_ enjoyed the game.

The satisfaction had not been from killing Death Eye, from making that shot.

No.

It had been from saving his family.

And no matter how many times he had to stare down death himself to do so, he would do it.

Because they were his family.

And he was their sharpshooter.

And he would protect them.

Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s a wrap! The resolution of the commission asked for either Coran or Shiro to talk to Lance about the killing (and since I threw Shiro near mortally wounded into a pod that left the gorgeous man ♥) and reassure him in light of Death Eye’s taunts and I mean, really, any excuse to write me some Coran and Lance bonding I will take it and run cackling into the night.
> 
> I’ve been so touched by the love for this fic and appreciation for both capable and BAMF Lance as well as our boy's compassion and heart. Thank you all so much for your kind comments. I would love to hear from you one last time before you head out, please and thank you!


End file.
